


A Different Start

by Ophite



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4591818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophite/pseuds/Ophite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world were Sentinels are know the New Order Militia is part of the arms race. I am slowly moving all my old fic here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Start

**A Different Start**

**Training Base of The New Order Militia**

"Enter".

"Sir, Lt. Cameron reporting," said the young man as he presented himself before the Colonel's desk with a crisp salute,

The older man looked up at him with a bright gleam in his eyes, "We have finally got a live one."

"An unbonded sentinel, Sir?" Cold eyes lighting with excitement.

"Yes Lieutenant, one James Ellison, He is 35yrs old, unbonded, and a Detective with the Cascade Police. We are currently testing his commitment since there are some concerns that he may be an infiltrator." He said thoughtfully, "It's a possibility considering his employment, but his father, though he is not one of us, is a very right thinking man. That's one of the reasons he was approached. He might blend with those PC subs, but he was raised right." Colonel Kincaid rose and pulled a folder from a file cabinet next to his desk, and handed it to the young Lieutenant. "We need to acquire an unbonded guide. We've compiled a list and this one, Sandburg, should be easy. He has no family close by, and he lives in a bad part of Cascade. Give this mission brief to Capt. Knowell, I want my hands on that guide ASAP."

Cascade Warehouse district 1:30 am

"Jeeze Kelly! Do we have to run over this same old argument again?" Blair shoved his hair out of his eyes tired and irritated. It was late and while he appreciated the ride, this was old and tired ground.

The petite young woman in the driver's seat glanced at him in annoyance, "But how can you make a decision like that. If you don't bond with a Sentinel, you will have to spend your whole life pushing people away. I care about you Blair, I want a serious relationship and that can't happen as long as you are unbonded."

"You knew from the start how I feel about that." I have plans for my life that make long term relationships awkward anyway. In another year I'll be considered a section 4, unbondable. You know that Dr, Stoddard has offered me a place as soon as that happens." His voice rang with frustration. "You know that if I bond it would screw up everything that I ever wanted in my life. There wouldn't be any more chances for expeditions or fieldwork. I have wanted to be an Anthropologist for half my life, Kelly. I'm not going to give that up, not for you, not for a Sentinel, not for anyone. Look," he said moderating his voice a little now, "maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore. We want different things and it's just not going to work."

She looked at him, lips drawn in a tight line, and her face flushed red in anger, "That's just fine with me Blair, but when you grow up and are ready for a real relationship, **don't** bother to look me up. I'm not waiting any longer for you to grow-up.

 _I wonder if I made a mistake here?_ Thinking for a second about how his life would change if he bonded. His whole life would be subsumed by the needs of a person bound by instinct to a defined territory. _No way. It's bad enough I can only travel in country for now._ His mouth twisted sarcastically. _God forbid or government should take the chance on some foreign Sentinel getting me._ They drove the rest of the way to his place in silence. She stopped the car and he got out. "Good-bye Kelly. I guess I'll see you around after spring break." She gave him a poisonous look, and drove away, tires kicking up gravel. Blair shrugged to himself, "And then again, maybe not."

Yawning he headed for the door of the renovated warehouse where he lived. He liked it here; there was lots of space in the warehouse, and a low population density in this area of town. The neighbors were to be avoided at all costs. Very bad vibes, but they weren't right behind a thin piece of drywall, so he could deal with them. The physical distance took a little of the pressure off of his emotional shields. Soon he would be safe at home where he could relax them. The dorms had been a year of sheer hell. He hurried through the dark, and yawning, opened his door. He heard a hiss as a cold spray met his face, the world went black, and he woke-up in hell.

His head was throbbing and his stomach turned itself inside out onto the floor beside him. Before he could recover strong hands lifted him up off the floor. Young skinheads dressed in some kind of paramilitary uniform surrounded him. One of them called out, "He's awake, let's get him prepped for stage one." He was lowered into a dentist chair and a buzz filled his ears. The cold metal edge of a pair of clippers began to skim over his scalp.

"Hey!" he exclaimed groggily as he started to thrash his leaden limbs against the hands holding him down, then screamed as an electric jolt of pain burst against his arm.

"Hold still you hippie little Kike, you're here to learn your place", A gravelly voice said as he gave Blair an extra jolt with the cattle prod. "You can make this hard or easy, and from my point of view hard is kind of fun." Sheer misery had dropped the barriers he worked so hard to protect his mind. These guys despised him; they wanted to hurt him. He struggled to raise his walls again, to protect his mind from the razor edges of their hostility.

Blair vomited again, and shivered in reaction to the pain, shock, and after effects of the ether he had been dosed with. None of these goings on phased the guy wielding the clippers, and he had Blair down to stubble in just about two and a half minutes.

As soon as the barber withdrew, before Blair could even begin to struggle, he felt straps tightening around his chest and legs. His head was rotated to the left and restrained with another strap. After that was accomplished a voice behind him called out, "Joey, we're ready for you."

A thin man whose arms were covered with tattoos crossed into Blair's field of vision. He reached and out grabbed Blair firmly by the chin and tested the restraints. He frowned and said, "I got the template ready sir, but I don't want to do the job unless you put him out, he can still move too much and I don't want that to mess up the tattoo."

"No, Sgt. the Col. was very specific, he is to be awake for phase one. You may however call the doc and have him given a muscle relaxer or something." A deeper voice replied.

Blair couldn't even struggle when yet another man came in and administered an injection into his arm. After a very few minutes his body felt heavy and unresponsive, even breathing felt like an effort. He couldn't complain with more than soft whimpers, as the thin man went to work. A tattoo high on the side of his neck a Star of David enclosing the initials N and O. Labeling him as a sub-human, and the property of his new masters.

Captain Roy Knowell looked on in approval before turning and leaving the room. It was time to brief the Col. on the mission status and receive detailed instructions on phase two.

Col. Kincaid stood looked with approval at his men, his elite. They were loyal sons of America every one of them. He cleared his throat and began his briefing.

"Men, over the next two weeks, we will be engaged in a very serious undertaking. A sentinel has joined our number, but to use him to full effect he must have a guide. We have no potential guides on our roles, so we have taken one out from among our enemies. This proto-guide we have taken is a Jew and a liberal. He will never be one of us, but he must be broken to our will. He is over 21 but has never bonded. We must strip him of his emotional barriers. We must make him isolated and afraid so that when he is presented with a sentinel his survival instincts will force him to bond. And we must break his will so that there is no hesitation in his obedience to our will. We have 14 days to finish this task, at which point we will bond him to our sentinel."

"Phase one has already been implemented. In phase one we drastically altered his physical image. His head has been shaved; he has been tattooed with a symbol that represents both his own inferiority, and our ownership of him. We have put a collar on him and restricted his ability to use his hands. All these will serve both to depress his morale and as constant reminders of his new status.

"As part of phase two he is to be broken to obedience in the shock room. Phase two will proceed as follows: He will be deprived of sleep." The Colonel's eyes met those of his subordinates. "I don't want him getting any more than five hours a day, in blocks of three hours or less. His calorie intake will be severely limited to 900 or fewer low protein calories per day. He will be fed from a pan. He will be permitted only very limited interaction during his feedings and through the loud speaker. The exception will be when we run him through gauntlets to teach him his place in our society and about his need for a protector. All of this will set him up for bonding using a variation of the Stockholm syndrome."

"Lack of sleep and food plus the use of certain drugs will weaken both his body and his will, making him susceptible to behavior modification. The shock room will provide us the opportunity for programming his obedience. You have been provided with the protocol for its use he is to be shocked whenever he transgresses against obedience or the rules for his behavior."

It was the whispering that woke him, soft voices that told him to "submit" and to "obey", "You are Guide" they said, "you need a Sentinel to protect you" they whispered. Everything he could see was white... the walls, the ceiling. No the floor was divided into colored blocks. A voice, louder than the whispers commanded, "Stand up." About two seconds passed his lax body and groggy, his mind trying to process the command, when the floor discharged an electric pulse that sent him jerking to his feet. "Kneel on the Red Square", came the next command.

Complying with the command Blair demanded, "What is this some kind of bizarre game of twister?"

Another shock came up through the floor; "The Guide must request permission to speak." The voice answered him in monotone. "Lay on your stomach across the green and yellow squares" He could feel the sadistic pleasure behind the voice and moved to comply, But he responded too slowly and was jolted again. The speed of the commands increased and the session lasted until he was exhausted and trembling. "Kneel upright on the blue square" came another command. Blair stumbled up into position and knelt on trembling muscles. "Stay", came the next command.

At first it was a relief to just be still, but soon his knees began to hurt and his muscles began to tremble and tighten.

"Who are you?" The voice questioned.

"My name is Blair Sandburg. Why..?" The rest of his question was cut off as he was jolted by yet another shock.

"Incorrect, you are Guide." corrected the voice.

"Who are you?" he was asked, and jolted, again and again until he gave the answer they sought. "Repeat the phrases you hear on the speaker". Then there was quiet except for the whispering, "Submit" "You are a guide" "Obey" "You need a sentinel" and Blair's voice repeating them, and his yelps when he missed one. And so it went until time blurred and unconsciousness came again. It continued when he woke, correct behavior was rewarded with water and rest, incorrect answers with pain and exhaustion. He knew what they were trying to do to him, but there was nothing he could do to stop them. He could still hold his barriers but if this went on much longer, that would change.

Col. Kincaid, observing him on a hidden monitor, was pleased. After only three days the guide's obedience to commands given appeared automatic and unthinking. The steady litany of inadequacy and need for a sentinel along with lack of sleep and light doses of drugs were depressing his ability to think independently. "Yes", thought the Col., "it's all right on schedule." He watched in cold approval as the guide suddenly shivered, flinched, but did not move. He had not been able to get the man's official records, which would have told him how sensitive an empath he was, _"but from his reactions, he's a strong one."_

Once in a while a man (Not the same one every time) came in and put food and water in pans on the floor. If it was the thin man he checked the tattoo throbbing on his neck, after a while that pain faded. Through shocks and commands he learned that he must drop to his knees when the man came in, and keep his eyes down. He must wait for the command to eat and drink and he wasn't allowed to use his hands. The water had a bitter tang and after drinking it his mind went fuzzy. After a while he lost any track of time. Then his sense of self began to fray and crack, drowned in exhaustion, pain, and a feeling of personal impotence. His walls all came tumbling down releasing what should have been a powerful gift, now only another weapon in the hands of his tormentors.

He learned to dread those other times the door was opened. The man would radiate a kind of malevolent anticipation. A leash was snapped to his collar and was required to "heel" out of the room with whoever had his leash, out through another room, then outside. Then the man would drop the leash that was the signal to the others that he was fair game. The other men who were out there would close in like a pack of wolves and run him through a gauntlet of switches and cattle prods. Their emotions pounding at his mind like wrecking balls until he shivered on the ground incapable of moving under the physical and mental assault. Eventually someone would take the leash again, then he would be safe, the attacks ceased, and the immediate violence of their emotions would fade into a background of contempt. The others would leave, and he would "heel" as best he could, after his master, back to his room. _Why did they drop the leash? Oh God, please could someone come who would hold on to the leash and keep him safe. A Sentinel._

Detective James Ellison disguised his disgust and contempt for the men surrounding him behind an impassive mask that revealed few emotions. He'd had to prove his "loyalty" by participating in an armored car robbery, and felt lucky that no one had been injured. They knew he was a cop, but they had approached him. When he had reported it, he had been immediately tasked out to the ATF who were working in a joint task force with the FBI. It galled him that it was so easy to slip into the attitude these guys expected, not surprising though when he thought about his father. This had been a draining assignment; he had been inside for four weeks now. They wouldn't let him take the Sensupresstm, the medication that suppressed his senses and prevented zones in an unbonded. He was having some trouble but was managing pretty well for the most part. His mouth twisted sardonically, they wanted him to bond, as if that hadn't been tried. No guide would have him, something about emotional barriers. One guide had told him that he pathed almost like a sociopath; his walls were so thick. But they all tried. They all wanted those thick walls to rest behind, even they had to accept him in the bargain.

But it was nearly over. A bonded sentinel was tracking him, and he was finally being taken to the New Order's HQ camp. Once that location was known and the self-styled Col. Kincaid's presence was verified the Feds would move in and take the place down. Another criminally funded militia rendered headless.

The SUV he was riding in struggled up a rugged logging trail and around a last curve and the militia HQ stood revealed. A reasonably sized cabin, 4 maybe five rooms, another that looked like it might be more of a bunk house, a GP medium tent being used for a field kitchen and a few other small out buildings all sat in a wood line with a clearing available for helicopter traffic. The vehicle pulled up to the 1st cabin. The men in the vehicle piled out. Three of the lower ranking flunkies started unloading gear from the back of the vehicle. The militia lieutenant, Cameron turned to Jim and said, "If you will please follow me sir, we will report to the Col." and Jim followed him as he turned away towards the door of the cabin.

The lieutenant knocked on the door, entered when permission came, and reported to the solid looking man behind the desk with a salute stating, "Lt. Cameron reporting with Ellison, Sir."

As the young lieutenant reported to Col. Kincaid, Jim felt a cold satisfaction. This was the man he had been sent to find. It would feel good to take this one down, a hate-mongering piece of shit who advocated the overthrow of the government. He armed his followers, trained them in terrorism, provided them with the tools of that trade, and funded the whole mess with armed robberies across 4 states.

There was something in the room that put him on edge though, a smell. He could feel his senses starting to grab at him. The lieutenant's footsteps as he walked across the floor, the slide of leather across skin. The creak of the door ripped across his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He was starting to zone and he fought it. Then the world tilted back into focus as a leather leash was placed in his hand. His gaze locked with a set of terrified blue eyes. He heard Col. Kincaid say, "Guide, this is your sentinel, if he wants you".

Jim's shock opened a tiny breach in his emotional walls. Normally this would be insignificant, but to a mind as strong and desperate as Guide's it was enough, his desire to link slid into the Sentinel's mind like a thread through the eye of a needle. Contact was made. Pheromones poured out of the guide and into the Sentinel's nose, triggering chemical changes in his brain, a surge of protectiveness for the man in front of him rolled over Jim like a tidal wave.

His senses now totally online took in every welt and burn on his guide's body, how thin he was, and the overwhelming stench of his fear that had soaked into the very walls of this place. As the guide dropped his eyes and fell into a kneeling position in front of him a snarl curled his lip and his glare fell on the lieutenant who was trying to hand him the leash. The man swallowed nervously and stepped back.

The dangerous tension was broken when the Colonel cleared his throat and said, "Allow me to lead you to your quarters. Please command your guide to heel and keep a hold on his leash when out in the compound." Drawing upon years of self-discipline, and the needs of the mission, Jim followed Col. Kincaid out the door with the young man trailing behind him.

His head cleared a little in the fresh air out of the closed confines of the office. In a voice louder and more angry than normal he asked, "Col. Kincaid, with all due respect sir, what the hell have you done." Jim's eyes darkened with anger as he once more took in the condition of the man who was now his guide; the man who was bonded to him for life. Only the knowledge that the Feds would be descending within the next couple of hours and his own iron discipline prevented his rage from exploding.

Col. Kincaid met his glare with the calm gaze of the morally justified and said, "I did what was necessary to ensure that the guide would bond with our chosen sentinel. I know you're feeling very protective of him now, unfortunately the bond makes that inevitable. You must however bear in mind that he is not one of us. Not only is he a guide, he's a sub, ethnically Jewish. His natural place is in service to his racial superiors. This one was so morally bankrupt that he wouldn't even follow his own natural calling into the service of a sentinel. Once he settles into his place in life he'll be happy enough, and well treated. He is after all a valuable, almost irreplaceable resource.

Blair was numb with relief and exhaustion. From the moment he had met the Sentinel's eyes he had been surrounded with an emotional calm like he hadn't known since his empathy had come online years ago. He savored quiet that replaced the heated boiling hatred fear and disgust directed at him. He could still sense these emotions, but they were no longer directed at him. There was a violent murderous rage, but it was flowing out, not in. He was protected by his Sentinel. Tired as he was he followed, desperately anxious to stay close to the source of his newfound peace and safety. The voices of his Sentinel and the Colonel ran through his consciousness undecoded since no command was being directed at him. For the first time since he had come to this place he felt safe. He knew that his Sentinel wouldn't drop the leash.

Jim glanced back at the battered man trailing behind him and asked Col. Kincaid, "Who is he?"

"You can call him whatever you want. It would be counter-productive at this point in his training to give him his old name back." Kincaid announced flatly. "It would give him ideas. We just call him Guide."

At the sound of this name Jim, glancing back, saw the dull eyes flicker with attention for a moment. When no command followed they immediately glazed over again as he continued to follow along. The compound was buzzing with activity, weapons being cleaned, target practice, and hand to hand practice, and the newly arrived supplies were being stored in a small sh ack next to the cook tent. The sharp cracking of the weapons fire felt like it was spiking through his skull, after a few flinches a tentative hand reached up and tentatively rested on his back. He felt its warmth steady him. The mess tent was gearing up for dinner. The attack would probably come when the majority of the men were eating. The Sentinel trailing him would put that information to good use in planning the timing.

They reached a small one-room building. "Most of the men live in the barracks, but for you and the guide, we've set up these quarters" Explained the Colonel, "It's just a couple of beds and a footlocker for your gear, but we sound proofed it. It should give you some of the privacy you'll need for the next few weeks while you adjust to the bond and your new abilities."

"I'll see you later then, Sir, at chow."

As Col. Kincaid turned to go he said, "That will be at 1730 hrs. There is a blackout rule at night, so everything is done and policed before sunset."

The guide followed him into the sturdy little building and when Jim stopped hi dropped promptly to his knees. Jim looked at him with troubled eyes and then bent down to unhook the leash. He questioned gently, "What's your name?"

"I'm Guide."

"No, I mean your name before you came here."

The young man flinched beneath even the slight correction in his sentinel's voice, reacting to the displeasure focused on him by his sentinel. The recent training held though and he shivered silently as the whisper of his name though his mind clashed with the aversion conditioning.

"Shhh, shhhh, It's okay" and the guide relaxed immediately beneath his Sentinel's hand which was stroking his shoulders and the protective gentleness now focused on him. Jim wondered a moment what to do and then opted for the easiest course of action. His Guide desperately needed sleep and wasn't capable of giving him the information he wanted and he had a job to do. "C'mon Chief," he said pulling the exhausted man to his feet and pointing him at one of the two cots in the room, "you need to get some sleep. Go lay down." The kid instantly went to the bed and lay down. Jim looked on in approval as the dark-blue eye closed and his guide sank into oblivion under his Sentinel's watchful gaze.

With the kid soundly asleep it was time to complete his assignment. It was his job to make sure Kincaid didn't slip through the net when the bust went down. He would disable the helicopter and the SU, and be back shortly. _His new Guide would be safe in here, and never know he was gone. As exhausted as he was, he would sleep for hours._ Jim looked at the boneless figure on the cot. _With luck, he would sleep through the bust._

It was the growing pressure that woke him, the weight of all those hostile minds with their foreign feelings. His eyes opened and flicked anxiously about the sparse room searching for his protector. His panic rose choking him in his absence. _Where is he? I need him._ He crawled from his bed and moved fearfully around the room. It felt wrong to be moving around without someone to command him, but even more intense than this was his anxiety over the missing Sentinel and his need to find him. _The Guide must stay with the Sentinel. The Guide needs the Sentinel to protect him._ The chants of his conditioning and the pull of his bond struggled with the fear of going outside alone. Pacing nervously about the room his eyes fell on the leash left on the rough table. His hand reached out and took it, clipped it to his collar, and he moved to the door. Screwing his courage up to the sticking point he slipped outside.

The brutalized young man felt his gut knot with the familiar terror at being outside alone. He held the strap of the leash clutched to his chest with both hands, pressed against the building, and slunk along it looking for his Sentinel and keeping a wary eye out for anyone else. Glancing around the corner he froze at the sight of so many people. He sank slowly to the ground watching them move about, searching for a tall, well-muscled frame. A certain silhouette   already imprinted on his brain even after so short a time. The smell of food in the air made his starving gut clench and burn, but he barely noticed the accustomed sensation of hunger over the urge that drove him on.

 _There!_ He felt the pull past the kitchen tent, and caught sight of a familiar buzz cut in that direction. He would have to circle through the woods to get to his Sentinel. There was no way he could make it through the camp without being seen. He wouldn't risk a gauntlet forming. He eased around the building and out along the fringes of the camp, muttering softly, "Sentinel? I'm coming, around through the woods. Come get me? Please? Where are you?" He had faith that eventually his Sentinel would hear him. _I should have called him from the cabin._ He froze at the thought but then continued on, it was the Guide's responsibility to be there for the Sentinel. He had been derelict in his duty to fall asleep.

The vague miasma of hostile thoughts that swirled at the edge of the Guide's mind, became a blinding spike of hostile attention. He heard a shout, "HEY! THE GUIDE IS LOOSE BEYOND POINT 12!" He froze in terror and then knowing what was about to happen sprinted through the trees at a dead run racing blindly towards a vague feeling of safety.

The guard left his post to give chase and the other men, who were gathering for chow hearing the yell, looked up. With eager yells like a pack of dogs, they joined the chase. Over the past few weeks they had learned to love this game, chasing down the hapless guide and working him over when they caught him. They weren't allowed to break anything or do any real permanent damage, but that still left a lot of room for some fun.

Jim, hearing the shout, was suddenly struck with his Guide's terror, hearing his harsh gasps for breath and pounding heart. "Shit!" He cursed softly. _At least in the confusion no one would notice him sliding out from under the now disabled SUV._ He dove along the back wall of the Colonel's building and into the woods to intercept his Guide and the hunt. He had to get to his guide first, if he didn't_. As he raced along he said to the listening Sentinel, "Send the attack now, if you can. I don't think dinner is going to be, a better distraction than this. About two thirds, of them are chasing my new guide through the woods, they left their assault rifles at camp." That duty done he turned his attention to the business at hand.

Blair, racing only yards ahead of his pursuers, yelped sharply and was thrown to the ground when the trailing end of his leash caught a branch. As the first of the men reached him, he rolled into a tight fetal ball to try to protect his head and gut. The first boot impacted his hip with stunning force making the leg go numb and loose, pulling a scream from his lips. A heavy leather belt struck his bare back and another man had cut a switch from a bramble. It was the electric cattle prod to his shoulders though that made his arms spasm away from his head, and applied to his belly that made him thrash helplessly. He was trapped by their bloodlust. _Oh God, there was no one to take his leash!_ "Please, please" He begged as he tried to crawl away from the excited mob of men hemming him in, they screamed with excitement and triumph with every blow. Four of them grabbed his arms and legs to stretch him out.

He only dimly heard the roar of his enraged Sentinel, but he didn't have to. The screaming cries in his mind were suddenly gone. Trapped outside the solid mental shield projected by his Sentinel.

Ellison reached the knot of men surrounding his Guide, his fist smashed into the temple of his first opponent dropping him like a stone. He was mad with rage but in their distraction they didn't notice him at first and he was able to take down two more. The moment he had seen them his mind had been flooded by fury. Long years of training made his thoughtless attacks deadly. But sheer numbers weighted against him. They piled on and held him down by sheer numbers.

Kincaid ran up and surveyed the potential wreckage of his careful plans. "What the FUCK is going on here!" He yelled over the screams of a man who had had his knee kicked out of joint.

"The Guide was running loose beyond the perimeter, Sir. We was just getting him when the Sentinel ran up an' went nuts attackin' us. There's a couple dead, he crushed Tom's skull when he punched him. An' he took Larry in the throat. We all piled on or he would've killed us all. He just went nuts.

The self-styled Colonel looked over the fresh welts and rising bruises on the Guide and the troop restraining him with a knee in the back and his arm twisted far up between the shoulders. His lips thinned and paled in anger. "Didn't I tell you all to keep your fucking hands off the Guide once the Sentinel was here? Let him up and take his leash."

Yes Sir," the young man said releasing his hold, "but he was running loose beyond the perimeter. What was we supposed to do but catch him?"

Kincaid then turned his attention to the snarling Sentinel thrashing and twisting beneath a pile 5 bodies desperately trying to hold him down. One of the men holding down his shoulder suddenly screamed and jerked as Ellison twisted his head to the side and sank his teeth into the man's wrist.

"Bring the guide over here." He grabbed the leash and jerked the little troublemaker over to the human pile, while pulling a pistol from his belt. "Settle him down or he gets a bullet in the brain."

The Guide scuttled to his Sentinel and slid himself between the men holding his Sentinel down. Squeezing up until his head was resting under Jim's chin, and crooning to him softly, he stroked his hands down Ellison's ribs, soothing him and filling his senses with the presence of his guide. Slowly the thrashing ceased and the Sentinel calmed almost zoned on the presence of his Guide. The voice telling him to relax, to be calm, "Shhhhhhh. I'm here. Shhhhhhh."

Kincaid, seeing the Sentinel more calm but still dazed, burst out, "What the HELL were you doing outside the perimeter, Guide."

"F-f-find S-s-sentinel." The Guide curled fearfully against the bulk of his Sentinel fearful of Kincaid's tone of voice.

"And just what was your Sentinel up to Guide? Why was he away from you?" The Colonel's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

The Guide shivered at the anger and suspicion in Kincaid's voice. He felt an almost tangible threat directed at his Sentinel curling around them like smoke, "H-h-h-ide n G-g-go Se-seek, b-b-bonding g-g-g-game." His voice trailed away weakly at the end as his hands desperately tapped and stroked his Sentinel feeling his returning awareness hoping that he understood the cover story.

"Ellison, answer me God damn it, Why did you take your Guide outside the perimeter."

It was then that the first canisters of tear gas fell in among the crowd of men and Jim's first coherent thought was, _Oh my God they are going to get us killed._

Col. Kincaid, feeling that all of his worst suspicions were confirmed, raised his pistol to fire at the traitor in their midst, but his men were scattering from the Sentinel for cover, and he couldn't get a clear shot. The tear gas started to affect his vision and the first shots were being exchanged with the enemy. _escape. I'll get them another day._

the Sentinel knew no hesitation. As soon as he was free he rolled like a cat, dragging his Guide with him, and sprinted for cover.

Jim grimly watched to pale figure lying unconscious on the hospital bed. He felt a cold satisfaction about taking down the Militia, but his new guide worried him. How long would it take him to recover? After what he had been through could he ever be normal? Ellison's eyes snapped sharply to the door as an intern entered.

"Well, how are we doing now?" She briskly strode over to the bed to give Blair his most recent shot. "This one is part of his rounds of painkillers." She looked at him with dry humor. "You may stop glaring at me as if I'm going to attack him. Both you and he are perfectly safe in this facility." She had a kind of no nonsense professionalism that soothed his rankled nerves, but he still watched her closely as she examined his new partner.

"How is he doing? How long is he going to have to be here?" Jim broke the quiet.

Most of his injuries are superficial. There is some deep bruising on his chest and hip, and a cracked rib but even that is not too serious. There was also some dehydration, and he is underweight, and exhausted. So really as far as his physical needs go it's going to be rather a simple job, feed him up, lots of rest, and a few painkillers for his ribs.

"But_?

And she sighed, "It's not his physical health that we are most concerned with. But even there he has an edge up on the average Joe. One of the worst things about emotional trauma is that often shame and self-blame will set in and a victim will often isolate themselves from the very support they need to recover. Since he is a bonded guide that is not so much of a problem. He can literally feel your concern," a smile quirked the corner of her mouth as she thought of the men guarded in the secure ward, "and your rather aggressive protectiveness. He can't isolate himself from you." Her face serious once more she went on, "He will need a lot of therapy, but he should make it. Now," she said briskly, "I have to finish my rounds. You need to get some rest too, there are two beds in this room for a reason. If you can't sleep a nurse will give you a sedative. I'll see you tomorrow I'm sure.

**1 week Later**

He sped his pace up the hall. He could hear his Guide's heartbeat pounding franticly. _I should have never left him alone. It was too soon_. He opened the door quietly and spoke a soft greeting then froze for a moment uncertain what to do. Blair stood in front of the refrigerator with his hand on the door. Sweat poured from him and his breathing was choppy; he was in a barely controlled panic. His fear and distress were almost overwhelming to the newly bonded Sentinel.

Jim opened his mouth to say, "Go ahead get a snack." But seeing the desperately determined look on Blair's face, said instead, I've got to go change, I'll be back down in a few minutes." Then he turned and left Blair alone

He sat on the edge of his bed struggling to resolve his need to help his guide with the knowledge that there were some things that Blair had to overcome on his own. He listened anxiously as the refrigerator door opened. Heard the catch in Blair's breath as he opened the fruit drawer and then closed it. He heard the crisp crunch as Blair bit into the fruit and he could smell the sweet scent of apple in the air. A real smile crossed his face, the first one since he had brought Blair to his home. They were going to be okay. He could believe that now.

 


End file.
